


Law, Like Love

by futsch



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, It's a law enforcement!au, there'll be more, this is for the trash fam obvs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: "Bonnie and Klaus are NYPD detectives. She’s married, two kids, graduated top of her class at the academy and shot up the ranks to detective. Plays by the book but occasionally a wild card when children and young people are victims. Klaus is also a star detective but he has a reputation for being a little intense. He was a victim of childhood abuse so he’s married to the job. Just has lots of one night stands and dates that don’t amount to anything.  They’re assigned to work together as partners."Title comes from W.H. Auden's poem "Law, Like Love." I strongly suggest reading it alongside with this thing I'm doing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, obvs for the trash fam. Vignettes? Plot? Who knows. It's for fun. If you wanna co-create, then please do! We can all write some law enforcement!klonnie in our lives.

This is what helplessness feels like: seeing a child covered in bruises and instead of being able to fix them, realizing they're a bit like a mirror of a past self. He's staring at the galaxy of a purple and blue bruise on the girl's arm, his mouth taut. There's nothing he can do for her. Just like no one could do anything for him. No, the job is to run through the drug house and catalogue all the contraband--anything from cocaine to cough syrup. Sticking to protocol and standards was its own kind of safety.

Collect facts, stop theorizing.

So, when Officer Johns isn't as gentle with asking the kid questions as he should be, Klaus doesn't think anything of it. Officer. Detective. Same rank. If he tried saying anything, Johns would roll his eyes and ask if everything was done yet.

"Jonhs? A word." Detective Bennett comes out of nowhere, a flash in the corner of his eye. Klaus -almost- flinched.

Bennett practically drags Johns by the almost over to Klaus. "The hell are you doing?"

Johns flat mouth gets flatter with disinterest. "That's five words, Bonben."

"Call me that again you'll get all five of my toes and a bonus foot up your ass."

Admittedly, he'd heard the rumors. Hot shot, high rising, and hellishly temperamental when the occasion called for it. The -exact- type of person he hated working with. But they'd been assigned to one another and rules were rules. Breaking regulations meant a whole lot of heartache he'd shrugged off from his earlier days in the force. 

Pragmatism hurt less than idealism.

"That kid ain't a perp, nuts for brains," she hissed. "So maybe act like you give a shit."

Johns opened his mouth to interrupt her and she looked ready to shove his badge down his throat.

"Do it," she challenged. "Tell me to mind my own business." Detective Bennett gave him an icy glare. Klaus -almost- shivered.

Johns muttered something before slinking off, tail between his legs. But Klaus watched. And was amazed. Johns was softer now, more pliable. At one point, he hugged the kid.

For a brief moment, Klaus felt a pang of envy. Complex envy. It wasn't just because Detective Bennett took action, -did- something. No. It was the moment of warmth and comfort on the girl's face. The largest galaxy on her face sparkled against her cheeks. It took Klaus a moment to realize she was crying. 

Wanting what someone else had felt like a hot water boiling in his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I don't know what I'm doing? I can! Basically, no editing, no proofing, just for fun. Sorry I've not been good at responding to comments but thanks to everyone for reading and of course special thanks to the trash fam (as always!).

“So why don't you like egg rolls?” Klaus took a bite of one he was holding. The other hand held a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. “It's the twitchy one again. Coming out with a blue duffel bag this time.”

Bonnie scribbled something down, tapping the pen against the clipboard. “And?” 

“Nothing new. No label or anything on the bag.”

Klaus watched out of the corner of his eye while she put another tally in a separate box. Her handwriting looked like something wild trying to be tamed.

“I like to taste my food,” she answered. Sitting back in the passenger seat, she had her legs stretched out and boots resting on the dash. They'd flipped a coin for who started watch the first hour. They'd alternate afterwards for a long, eight-hour shift.

Klaus slid the binoculars off his face for a moment to give her a quick frown. Then he went right back to watching. He took his last egg roll out of the bag. “The hell does that mean? I taste plenty.” He stuffed the end of it into his mouth, took a big bite, and almost immediately popped his mouth back open to make weird sounds. Shit. Too hot.

Bonnie was rifled through some papers next to her, ignoring his Niklaus moment. That's what she called them. He liked to believe it was good-natured event though she had, on more than one occasion let him know that Niklaus was a hopeless dweeb. 

“It's all about the wrapper, Mikaelson,” Bonnie argued. “Spring roll? Thin, crispy. You can actually taste the stuff inside.”

“New car pulling up,” Klaus interrupted. “Looks like a real junker. It's got some bumper sticker on the left side. Can't see what it says, small print. Car is a light blue. Only the driver present. Caucasian male, about six foot, blond hair.” He looked again but didn’t see any other details to report. “You just don’t have a refined palette like me.”

Bonnie recorded the information. “Repeat bumper sticker information.”

“Bumper sticker on left side, has writing but too small to make out.”

“Thanks.”

“Only for you,” Klaus joked. He took another bite of egg roll. “This is thin and crispy. I can taste the cabbage and shit.”

“You'd eat mystery casserole off a discount buffet,” she insulted. He snuck another look at her, watching her put another tally in the box where'd she'd put the last one. There were ten marks so far. It drove him a little crazy not to know what it was about but he wasn't gonna ask. “Eating egg rolls feels like stuffing fried dough into my mouth. Like the grease feels like sticking to the roof of my mouth.”

“Gross.” Klaus quickly adjusted one of the lenses and went back to watching the clubhouse activities. Stationary stake-out was usually a drag but this one exceeded expectations. “Mouths are full of germs.”

She rolled her eyes. “The greasy taste you, nerd. My mouth is fine.”

Stationary stake outs were the worst. Just sitting around and collecting the same evidence over and over again, usually. Basically, by the first hour, a recipe for boredom.

“And yet, your favorite dish is pork fried rice, Bennett.”

She tossed him a sidelong glance and flattened her mouth. “It’s a different type of grease.”

“Sounds like a different type of bullshit,” he tossed back. “Twitchy came back out, on his cell.” Klaus doesn’t say it but he’s thinking about the girl with the galaxy of bruises on her body, shining tears for stars running down her cheek. 

Bonnie doesn’t say anything in reply to his ribbing but instead slides forward and sits up straighter. “That guy beside him.”

Klaus hands the binoculars to her. Bonnie hands the clipboard and pen to him. In one week they know each other’s stakeout quirks. Now I play eyes and you play pen. 

He’s ready to write anything but until then, he’s staring at the caged in marks of the tallies she’s made--parallel but violent strokes flying upwards. Bonnie says, “Five five,” and Klaus writes “short” and boxes it in with enough room to write more details.

His handwriting is boxy and precise. Hers is a muzzled wolf.

“Meredith,” she hisses, more air than sound.

And it takes him a moment to realize what she means. 

Michael Meredith is, technically, an innocent man.

The district in which he was supposed to have been tried fucked up spectacularly by way of missing paperwork courtesy of the prosecuting attorneys.

So, technically, he’s never been proven guilty therefore he’s innocent of killing his wife and two kids because she threatened to go to the police once she found out he was part of Mystic Fall’s drug business of selling to kids. 

And, there he is. The man, the myth, the monster himself.

Michael Meredith is smiling, shaking hands, he makes someone laugh.

Before Bonnie can move, Klaus darts an arm out and grabs her by the collar of her shirt and jacket, the scruff of her clothes. 

She shoots him a dirty look. “Get your fucking hands off of me.” Her hand is already on the door handle and if he were to ask, she could tell him how many bullets were in her gun.

“Act like you have some common sense,” he lazily tosses back at her. “You might not care but if you act like an idiot, I’d rather not be inconvenienced by your stupidity.”

Paperwork, meetings, more paperwork, more interviews.

Why did you let your partner go out and start shooting at a bunch of people during a stake out?

As if Bonnie Bennett would ever let anyone tell her what she was “allowed” to do.

They glare at one another.

She doesn’t yank his arm away. Instead she grabs one of her last spring rolls in her bag and then smashes it into his jeans. Unsanforized and calendared to his exact tastes, Klaus prefered to spend his money on form and function. 

And now he has grease and pieces of vegetable and spring roll wrap mashed into them.

“Spring rolls taste better,” Bonnie muttered to herself and thrusting the binoculars back at him. 

Klaus started at the leaning spring roll on his pants. He could feel some of the heat on his leg. Would a professional cleaner be able to get the stain out?

He looks back up at Michael Meredith who is slapping someone’s back. They’re laughing. 

He was right. He knew he was right. 

But he knew Bonnie was right too and that man deserved whatever bullets were in her gun.

“Well?” Bonnie muttered, clicking the pen.  
Now I play eyes and you play pen.

Klaus curled a nostril at her. “You know I’m right.”

Bonnie makes another tally. “Touch me again and dump my pork fried rice down your shirt.”

He glared at her. He picked up the egg roll and tossed it back in the bag. He went back to playing eyes.


End file.
